


great hearts

by WeeBeastie



Series: hope springs eternal [3]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Mush, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, pirate dads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-21
Packaged: 2019-01-20 14:19:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12434601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie
Summary: great hearts, my dear master, should be patient in misfortune as well as joyful in prosperity.- Cervantes,Don Quixote[silverflint + a baby, vol. 3]





	great hearts

**Author's Note:**

> I just can't stop with this verse! So much fluffy fluff, aww. They even manage to get a moment alone in this one, hence the M warning. ;) 
> 
> So much love to scrapbullet for being lovely and encouraging and sharing such awesome ideas with me that I then get to steal and turn into fic. You're so wonderful, scrap! Thank you!
> 
> Title and words in the summary borrowed, obviously, from Cervantes. These two great hearts were so patient in their misfortunes and now they get to be joyful in prosperity. <3

Silver is sitting in the parlor one evening, slowly (and, he'd be the first to admit, clumsily) knitting something for Hope when it happens. 

One moment she's sitting on the floor not far from him, babbling and playing with an old kerchief of Flint’s that's inexplicably become her favorite possession, and the next she's pulled herself to her feet via the bookcase and is taking wobbly but determined steps toward Silver. She lets go of the bookcase at last and careens more or less purposefully in his direction, freewheeling her way to crash delightedly into him. 

“Well done!” Silver exclaims when she does, picking her up and setting her in his lap, chuckling at the overwhelming satisfaction he sees on her face. “Well done, my lamb. Should we show Papa? I think so,” he says, and shifts to get up from his chair, balancing Hope on his right hip. She rests her head on him and curls her little fingers in his shirt, her other hand still clutching that kerchief she's so attached to. 

Silver carries her to the bedroom, where he finds Flint shrugging into his nightshirt, fresh from a bath. “James,” he says, and can feel himself grinning like a fool. “You won't believe what our clever girl has just done. She walked on her own, all the way to me.”

“She did?” Flint asks, smiling back. “Do you think she'll do it again? Put her down, let me see,” he says, and Silver does, gently setting Hope on the floor to his left. 

She waits a beat as though she wants to be sure they're both watching, then hauls herself up on Silver's crutch. She finds her balance then, and as Silver watches, Flint reaches for her. 

“Come on, darling. Show me,” Flint says, kneeling and opening his arms to her. 

Hope yells excitedly at him and lets go of Silver's crutch, zigzagging like a tiny drunk across the room and right into Flint’s arms. 

“She's brilliant!” Silver exclaims, feeling inordinately proud of their baby daughter for taking her first unaided steps. 

“She's very clever,” Flint agrees, picking Hope up and standing with her in his arms. “Now, if she could just learn to say something other than ‘shit,’ I'd be rather impressed indeed,” he jokes. 

“Shit,” Hope says solemnly, and then she's stuffing the kerchief into her mouth and chewing on it, looking very pleased with herself. 

“I think she must be cutting new teeth, too, with all the chewing on...everything,” Silver says, reaching out to take her from Flint. She switches immediately from chewing the kerchief to stuffing a fistful of Silver's hair in her mouth, proving his point. Flint looks vaguely horrified at the sight of Hope chewing Silver's curls, but Silver is decidedly unfazed. He's dealt with worse than a little drool before.

“I see,” Flint says under his breath. “She is about old enough to be cutting more teeth, isn't she? How, uh. How old...is she?” he asks, realization dawning on his face just as Silver feels the same thing happening inside himself. 

It hits him like he's been punched. “We don't know her birthday,” he says softly, a little devastated, holding her that much closer for it. “I think she was about eight months when her mother first brought her here but it's not like I asked when her birthday was. We don't know when our daughter was born.”

“We’ll choose her birthday, then,” Flint says resolutely, stepping close to Silver and leaning over Hope to kiss him gently. “And when that day comes, we'll make a big fuss over her. The biggest fucking fuss anyone's ever made for a first birthday.”

Hope tips her chin back to stare solemnly up at Flint. Silver smiles at them both, amused by the sight of the baby with his hair in her mouth. She lets go of his hair abruptly and reaches out to pat Flint’s face with one drooly, dimpled hand. 

Just as Silver is about to melt from how sweet and wonderful she is, she surprises him with a new word: “Fuck.”

Silver bursts out laughing because he can't stop himself, even though he knows he shouldn't encourage her. Flint laughs too, and Silver can't help but feel a peculiar mix of pride and embarrassment. How on earth did she learn to say that word, and so clearly, too? She really is their daughter. 

“Come on then, troublemaker,” he says fondly. “Give Papa a kiss goodnight, and I'll put you to bed,” he says. Hope obliges, leaning in to plant a smacking kiss on Flint's whiskered cheek. “There you are, what a sweet little lady,” Silver says. “I'll put her to bed in her room and then I'll be back. Wait up for me, if you can.”

“I can,” Flint assures him, a certain gleam in his eyes. Silver leaves the bedroom then, carrying Hope on his right hip down the hall. 

They've recently finished converting The Boat & Bird from an inn to a simple village pub. It didn't take much, just a change to their sign and a repurposing of one of the former guest rooms into a nursery. Silver is most pleased that Hope has her own room now, complete with a wooden cradle (no more sleeping in a cast-off box), a diminutive bookshelf that hasn't got much yet but will fill in time, a chair for Silver or Flint to sit in and rock her to sleep, and a scaled-down wardrobe to hold her rapidly expanding collection of little gowns. Flint has always had a keen eye for fashion, and it turns out he's no different when it comes to his daughter - he often returns from the village center with something fine for her to wear. It doesn't seem to bother him that she inevitably drools copiously on, smashes food into, or otherwise dirties her clothes several times every single day; if anything he seems pleased to be given the opportunity to put her in fresh outfits.

Silver changes Hope and readies her for bed, then settles into the chair to rock her to sleep. He glances over at her bookshelf to find something to read to her and is surprised to find a new collection of what appear to be handwritten pages, bound together with ribbon, resting on top of the low bookcase. He leans over and reaches for them with his free hand, inspecting them.

His heart beats faster when he realizes the pages are in Flint's hand - he's written Hope a bedtime story.

Smiling so wide his face aches with it, Silver commences reading Hope the story Flint wrote for her. It's a farcical, simple thing about a puckish, provoking pirate named Peter who has a purple parrot called Polly. Silver is a bit surprised that the annoying pirate’s name isn't John, but he supposes the alliteration makes for a more whimsical story. By the time he's finished reading about their adventures in a low, soft voice, Hope is sound asleep in his arms. He stands carefully and shuffles as quietly as he can to her cradle, tucking her in and kissing her forehead lightly before making his way out of her room. He leaves the door open so he can hear if she cries in the night, then retreats to his and Flint’s bedroom, half-closing their door for the illusion of privacy.

“You,” he begins, stripping his shirt off and struggling out of his trousers, then flinging himself at the bed (and Flint). “Your story-- you-- I can't _believe_ \--” he stammers, breathless with love and wonder. He takes the book Flint was reading and sets it carefully on the floor, then grabs Flint in his arms and kisses him soundly.

“You liked it that much?” Flint rumbles when he pulls back, and Silver kisses him again, unable to keep from showing him just how much he adores him.

“Yes,” he says when he leans away just enough to speak. “You wrote her a bedtime story and left it for me to find. I think that may qualify as the most romantic thing you've ever done.”

Flint laughs softly, running one hand down Silver's back, making him shiver. “I'm glad you appreciated the gesture,” he says, smiling, his eyes shining.

“Let me show you just how much I appreciated it,” Silver purrs, then ducks his head to start kissing his way down Flint’s neck. He slips a hand into Flint's breeches, feeling himself starting to get worked up. They haven't had a moment alone in some time - having a baby will do that - and Silver is eager to make good use of this particular moment.

Then he hears a wail from down the hall.

“Not _now_ ,” Flint groans, visibly flushed and frustrated.

“Maybe she'll quiet herself,” Silver says, hopeful. She does that some nights - she'll cry out once in the middle of the night, then fall silent again. It makes Silver wonder if she dreams yet, and if so, what she dreams of.

Unfortunately, this is not one of the nights where she elects to self-soothe. She wails again, louder and more insistent, and Silver sighs. He climbs reluctantly off of Flint and gets out of bed, looking imperiously down at him. “Stay exactly where and how you are right now. I'll be back just as quickly as I can.”

He hears Flint groan again as he leaves their bedroom and sighs under his breath, feeling a bit frustrated himself. He goes down the hall in just his breeches to tend to Hope, wondering how fast he can settle her so he can get back to Flint. 

He finds her standing up in her cradle, grasping the edge in her fists and looking downright outraged that he took even this long to come for her. Not a good sign. He picks her up in his arms and settles himself in the rocking chair, cuddling his daughter to his bare chest while she whimpers and clutches at him. 

“Shh, darling. You're alright. Did you have a nightmare? It's not real, my love, you're safe. Da is here, he understands,” he says lowly, rocking her slowly and humming an old shanty to her, the only song he can think of in that moment. 

Blessedly, she's asleep again by the time he finishes the song. He maneuvers her carefully back into her cradle and hurries from the room, down the hall and back to Flint. 

“Everything alright?” Flint asks, and Silver smiles. 

“She's fine, just a bad dream, I think. Now...where were we?” he asks in a deliberately suggestive tone as he gets back into bed, settling himself on top of Flint and working his hand into his breeches. He's moving quickly, wanting to get down to business in the brief moment alone they have. 

“John,” Flint whimpers breathlessly as Silver kisses his neck, making short work of the rest of their clothing. Flint reaches out to the nightstand, and Silver rolls over onto his back, waiting impatiently for Flint to find the oil they use to ease the way. 

Instead, he comes up with the rare, expensive stuff Silver uses on his hair. “No,” Silver balks immediately. “Not that. Where's the--? That's too hard to replace and I have so little, we can't use it for this.”

“John. Be reasonable. We don't know how much time we've got until she wakes again and I know you want this just as badly as I do,” Flint rumbles, uncorking the vial of oil. 

“If you put even a single drop of that on your fingers…” Silver begins in a threatening tone. 

One eyebrow cocked, a knowing smirk on his face, Flint very slowly pours a little of the expensive oil on his fingers. Silver wants to protest but then those same fingers are slipping inside him, making him arch and cry out. A part of him is mad - furious, even - but the rest of him wants Flint so _badly_ it just doesn't matter.

Once Flint is inside him, the rest of the world falls away. His focus narrows to how good Flint feels inside him, how warm and soft his skin is under his hands, what his teeth feel like where the sharp points of them dig into his neck. It's quick - neither of them has much stamina at the moment, since they've been deprived for so long. They grind together fast and hard, without finesse, and Silver finishes first with Flint right behind. 

Afterward, Silver lies still, panting and groaning, catching his breath. “You're going to replace that oil for me,” he says, gasping, grinning at the ceiling. “It's very expensive, you know.”

“Worth it,” Flint moans, then rolls off Silver, lying next to him with a deep sigh of satisfaction. 

They're granted a few minutes to lie still and recover together, and then a familiar, piercing wail breaks through the night's quiet darkness. 

“Oh, dear,” Silver says wearily, pushing himself up to sitting. He feels a hand on his arm and looks questioningly at Flint. 

“Stay. I'll see to her.” Flint gets out of bed and puts on his breeches and nightshirt, and Silver thinks drowsily that he's never loved him more. 

He intends to stay alert until Flint returns to bed, but instead he startles awake minutes or hours later when the mattress dips next to him. It's Flint, of course, and he's got a dozing Hope cradled to his chest, wearing a different nightgown than the one Silver put her to bed in. 

“She spit up on herself,” Flint whispers by way of explanation. “Rather spectacularly. She doesn't feel warm so I don't believe she's ill, but I wanted to bring her to bed with us, just...just in case.”

“You're so good at this,” Silver murmurs lowly as Flint eases into bed next to him with Hope in his arms. “You didn't think you would be, at first.” He pauses, feeling the silence stretch between them, remembering. “But look at you now.”

“She makes it easy,” Flint demures. “As do you.” Silver shifts closer to both of them, to his whole world, and falls asleep again almost immediately. 

When he next opens his eyes, it's morning, a wintry gray light filtering in through their bedroom curtains. Flint is still sleeping, as is Hope, curled up in Flint's decidedly protective embrace with one chubby hand gripping his finger. 

Silver just lies still and watches them dreaming together for a long moment, tiny daughter in her fierce father’s embrace, then eases himself out of bed and pulls one of Flint’s long white shirts on over his head. He leaves the bedroom quietly, heading to the kitchen to start on tea for himself and Flint, and some kind of breakfast for all three of them. 

He looks up from stirring the porridge when he hears halting footsteps in the hallway. He looks over and sees Hope meandering along with Flint right behind her, holding her hand to keep her steady while she toddles determinedly toward Silver. Flint is bent nearly in two in order to hold Hope’s hand, and Silver can feel himself beaming like a fool at the sight of them. 

Hope pitches forward and would fall if not for Flint, who swiftly rescues her and sweeps her up in his arms, holding her up such they can have a face-to-face conversation. 

“You're very nearly there, I think. A bit more practice and you'll be running around here all on your own, unfettered, like a proper tiny imp. We'll have to get you dance lessons someday, hey? I'd teach you myself but I'm afraid I'm not much of a dancer,” he says seriously, and not for the first time Silver notices how similar his eyes are to hers - the shades of green are nearly identical. Between those eyes and her silky dark brown ringlets, she really does look like their daughter, somehow.

Hope pats Flint’s cheek gently with one open palm. “Papa,” she coos in her sweet, high voice, and Flint’s laugh of startled delight is one of the best things Silver has ever heard.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [great hearts [PODFIC]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13373874) by [ponytailflint (inkgeek)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkgeek/pseuds/ponytailflint), [WeeBeastie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie)




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